


The Chameleon’s Dish

by Monsterunderkilt



Series: The Manse [42]
Category: Actor RPF, Celebrities - Fandom, RPF - Fandom, Real Person Fanfic - Fandom, Real Person Fiction
Genre: F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:42:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28394823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Monsterunderkilt/pseuds/Monsterunderkilt
Summary: Stephen hatches a plan to distract me from my Sir Ken obsession by fighting fire with fire, but I’m not the only one in the Manse coupling as I please... *wink wink*
Series: The Manse [42]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1209447
Kudos: 1





	The Chameleon’s Dish

“She’s insatiable!” Stephen whines, pounding his fist on the kitchen table. “Almost every minute of this vacation, our wife has spent doing quote-unquote yoga with Kenneth upstairs.”

Jon sits across from him, sipping his coffee and staring at this display of histrionics, nonplussed. “Uh, Stephen,” he says, holding up one finger. “To be fair, she’s spent at least as much time giggling her ovaries into oblivion hanging out with us as she has sneaking off with Sir Shakespeare there.”

Stephen goes on as if Jon doesn’t exist. “The unabashed resurgence of adulation she’s had for him... she hangs on him as if increase of appetite had grown by what it fed on—”

“Oh she’s got _you_ quoting _Hamlet_ now too.”

“Frailty, thy name is woman!”

“Honestly, I thought she would’ve had enough of us after 20 years, but clearly, there’s still a soft spot in her heart for our antics.”

“There must be a kryptonite for her lustful attentions. I shall wrack my brain for a lure to interrupt this ceaseless tryst.”

“This isn’t a competition, man!” Jon says. “Her heart is large. Her Manse is... possibly infinite. There’s plenty of space for all of us. And you love Kenneth, besides. Wait... it that what this is? You’re actually just jealous of her, not him, aren’t you?”

Stephen wrinkles his brow and scratches his head. “THINK Colbert, _think_. What hearty hunk of manmeat vexes her to no end? It can’t just be an irresistible piece of ass; he must disrupt her psyche as well.”

“Umm, she had a rough Christmas last year, so maybe not fuck with her psyche this time around.”

Stephen quickly stands, his chair scraping loudly against the floor as he punches the air and grins. “I GOT IT!”

Jon looks up at him with a frown. “Please no.”

Stephen finally meets Jon’s gaze and taps his fingers together like Mr. Burns. “This is going to be fun.”

********

Meanwhile, upstairs, Ken and I are out on the balcony, sitting side-by-side on the wicker loveseat, taking in the sun while putting together a puzzle of the planet Jupiter. The latest episode of the _No Stupid Questions_ podcast is playing on my phone, and we each have one AirPod in, listening intently as usual. I pick up a swirly pink piece and try to fit it near the edge we have already completed when Ken pauses the playback. I look up, questioning with my eyes.

He takes my piece and actually finds the right spot for it. “How long shall we keep up this ruse?”

I tilt my head. “What ruse?”

With a sigh, Ken twiddles his thumbs on the table. “Jon told me that whenever we’re up here for hours, Stephen thinks we’re subsisting solely upon fresh air and bonking.”

I snort and smile. “The chameleon’s dish—”

“You cannot feed capons so!” Ken says, completing the line.

I sit back and cross my arms over my chest. “The bonking is definitely substantial.”

“This is true, but I get the feeling a certain amount of resentment is brewing down below.”

“Ohh pfft,” I say, waving one hand. “Stephen’s probably more jealous of me than of you. He’s just being _Col-bear_ right now because he knows I miss it. _Col-bert_ , on the other hand, is one of your biggest fans.”

Ken shrugs and smiles, placing his hand over mine and giving it a little squeeze. “Why did I ever doubt that you’ve got it all sussed, old girl?”

I lean my shoulder against his and squeeze back. “You have a lot to learn about the politics of this place.”

Just then, my phone buzzes with a text noise. We both hear Siri read it aloud in our ears: “ _Message from Stephen:We have a special guest for lunch today, mamba muffin. Hiddles brought a sandwich ring from Publix. Better claim some before Jon eats it all!_ ”

Ken touches his lips with one finger. “Is that—?”

“Thomas,” I say, nodding. “Oh boy.”

Ken’s eyes widen. “I gather there’s some history there.”

“Yep. It’s not the smoothest history either. And Stephen knows it. This is his doing.”

“What could he possibly hope to achieve by parading young Thomas around in front of you?”

I shake my head and roll my eyes. “He believes it’ll distract me.” I think for a moment, then snap my fingers. “Hey, do you still have Tom’s mobile number?”

“Sure. Why?”

I kiss his cheek and hand him my phone. “Here’s where your actor-director skills really come in handy.”

********

Ten minutes later, Sir and I come downstairs, giggling and flirting up a storm. We’re dressed in our bougie Sunday brunch best; I poured myself into a tight long-sleeved royal purple knit dress and Ken slipped into dark jeans, a crisp white button-down, and a casual cerulean blue blazer. We laugh at nothing at all as we enter the kitchen, arm-in-arm, my white patent leather heels clicking confidently on the kitchen tile floor.

“Nice to see you before one o’clock for once this week,” Stephen says tightly from his seat at the table. His hands are folded in front of him where his lunch should be.

Jon, his mouth half-full of deli meat and bread, looks up from his plate where he’s seated at the counter. “There’s like, four kinds of sandwich in this ring,” he says happily. “Publix is magnificent.”

“Jon, you really should have waited until Madam arrived—” Tom says as he enters from the living room, freezing with a dropped jaw as soon as he sees Ken and me. As usual, he’s handsome AF in a well-tailored pair of simple blue slacks and a form-fitting black jumper. His face twitching with the calculus of propriety—bow or salute?—he snaps to attention and opts for a full out kowtow. “Madam, Sir... Please excuse my uninvited visit, I just thought I’d pop over and convey a Happy Christmas to... all who dwell within. Please forgive me for making myself scarce for so long.” He glances up at us, searching our stoic faces for permission to stand again.

With an effortless air of magnanimity, Sir gives Tom a minimalist forefinger-to-temple salute. “Happy Christmas, indeed, Thomas. Thank you for thinking of us.”

Tom straightens, but his face is still slack.

I rub Ken’s arm lovingly and nod at Tom with a soft smile. “Welcome back, Thomas.”

“All my thanks, Madam,” he says, that winning grin of his finally beaming. “Happiest of all the holidays to all of you.”

I study Stephen’s face out of the corner of my eye and it takes all my willpower not to snort—he’s positively catatonic, unblinking, and possibly not even breathing—as he witnesses this scene before him.

“L’chaim Tommy!” Jon says. “Come back anytime. Don’t hesitate to bring treats.”

Ken grins warmly and nods at Tom. “Well, the Missus and I will have our nosh out on the veranda, Thomas. Madam prefers turkey if you’ve got it, and I’ll have whatever Jon there is having.”

“The roast beef, Sir, is just—” Jon mimes a chef’s kiss and continues his chewing.

Ken and I happily walk past everyone and go out the sliding doors.

“Oh! And I’ll have a G&T with that,” I say over my shoulder.

“A lager for me,” Ken adds.

Tom bows again. “Yes, Sir, absolutely Madam, _mon plaisir_.”

As soon as we’re just out of earshot, Tom turns to Stephen, eyes wide as frisbees. “You didn’t tell me she married Sir Kenneth! Jesus, I would’ve at least worn a bloody jacket and tie.”

Stephen stares at him, finally coming back to earth. “ _You!_ You were supposed to recite some shit from _Henry Five_ and make her squee her pants! What the hell was _that_?”

Tom tugs at his collar, as if heating up. “Stephen, one must retain a certain standard in the presence of beknighted gentlemen. Clearly I couldn’t just launch into a Shakespearean wooing scene in front of _Sir Ken!_ ”

“But you worked with him on _Thor_ and _Wallander_! And what, you were Christian to his Cyrano on the radio? You’re old buds!”

“That was before the Queen tapped his shoulder with a sword, my friend!” Tom takes a deep breath and hurries to the kitchen to prepare the requested orders. “Now he dwells in that rarified air.”

Jon points at the fridge. “While you’re rooting around in there, I’ll take a beer too.”

Stephen fumes. “Jon! We had an entire revolutionary war not to recognize British societal norms! How is this happening in my house?”

“Madam’s house,” Jon says. “Hashtag 2020.”

With a grumble, Stephen throws his hands up and slumps in his chair. “I can’t wait for this dumpster fire of a year to be over.”

“I’m truly sorry, Stephen, but I have Sir to thank for making me Loki the sex icon in every gothy fangirl’s heart,” Tom says as he finishes fixing the lunches and puts everything on a tray to bring out on the veranda. “Can I get you anything?”

“I’ll have the ham,” he says offhandedly. “God of mischief my ass.”

Just then, Tilda, a little short of breath from a jog around the Manse grounds, glides into the kitchen. She cuts a svelte sylph of a figure in her matching skin-tight white Lycra getup, catching all the men’s eyes and making them forget about breathing for a moment. “Good day, gentlemen,” she says as she grabs a bottle of water from the fridge. She twists off the top, takes a long gulp, then wipes her mouth and winks at Tom. “I’m guessing Stephen’s little plot didn’t work out.”

Tom shrugs with that little laugh of his. “There was an attempt,” he says as he steps over to her and kisses her cheek. “Didn’t keep you up too late, did I, Tilly?”

She pats his bum and smiles seductively. “We’re vampires, remember?” she says, grinning.

“Well I better serve this up to the Madam and Sir before they smack me,” Tom says as he hurries outside with his tray of refreshments.

Jon and Stephen both look like children who have just realized that Santa isn’t real.

Tilda sips her water again and shrugs at them. “What? Madam isn’t the only one allowed to indulge her fantasies around here.”

********

In the evening, well after Tom, Ken, Tilda, and I had a bit of a laugh over a debrief, I quietly make my way to Stephen’s Guesthouse apartment across the courtyard. As I climb the stairs to the second floor landing, I look back at my master balcony, where Sir is standing, taking in the view of the night sky. When I stop at Stephen’s door, I catch my dear husband’s eye and blow a kiss. He blows one back to me, and I swear I feel it land right on my neck right where it makes goosebumps every time.

I let myself into the apartment and silently shut the door behind me. The room is dark, but there’s light coming from the kitchenette window. I hear the faint sound of Bing Crosby crooning about a winter wonderland coming from outside on the balcony. I stand at the threshold of the open glass door, hiding in the shadows a moment. I study Stephen: he’s alone, sitting slumped in his lounge chair, staring out at the horizon while using one finger to swirl a large ice cube inside a glass balancing on the armrest. It’s half full of deep brown liquid. The ice has yet to melt much, so he only just poured it. I had hoped to catch him before he got too squiffy this evening.

I take a deep breath and step forward. “Stephen.”

His head jerks in my direction, his jaw dropped. “Madam!” he gasps. I’m a little hurt that he’s genuinely baffled at my presence. I suspected the whole act with Hiddles might’ve been too much.

I step over to him before he can rise and I lay a hand on his shoulder, imploring that he be still. He stares up at me expectantly, questioningly. I reach for his beverage and take a tiny sip for myself.“Hmmm, that’s sweet tea,” I say bemusedly before bending down to place it on the table, out of the way, so I can sit on the armrest. I reach down and intertwine my fingers with his, lifting his hand to my chest. He smiles up at me and my heart throbs at his purity. This is all he wanted, really. Wordless alone time with the wife. But it’s his secret fear that he goes too far sometimes. And it’s mine that he takes some of our antics to heart.

I lean down and kiss him with a warm firmness that matches his need at the moment. As the kiss deepens, his arms guide me into his lap. He hugs my waist as I hold his head against my chest and kiss his hair—slightly damp with a recent showering, scented with rosemary and mint. He kisses my neck just under my chin, and I close my eyes, hugging him tighter.

“I adore you, Stephen,” I say softly. “You must know that.”

He hugs me tighter, kisses my hand. “I never meant to seem like I don’t. Because nothing could be further from the truth.”

“I know, sweetie, I know.”

Stephen looks me in the eye and touches my face, ever so tenderly rubbing his thumb on my cheek. “I’m glad we’re back here.”

I blink away a tear, but one still sneaks down my face. Stephen smiles and wipes it away. I laugh. “It’s more fun than I remember. And more satisfying.”

He nods and squeezes my shoulder. “ _What satisfaction canst thou have tonight_?”

I laugh again, wiping at my eyes. “ _I wish but for the thing I have, my bounty is as boundless as the sea, my love as deep; the more I give to thee, the more I have, for both are infinite._ ”

Stephen nods, blinking rapidly. “Wow. I was happy to settle for a make out sesh, but if you’re down for some seriously sexy recitations, I’m gonna need to stretch first. I’m not as good at this stuff as Sir Ken.”

I grab his face and kiss him ultra hard this time, surprising even myself at how irresistible his lips are once you shut him up. This quickly reminds him what he’s already good at, and he lifts me out of the chair and carries me like a new bride over the threshold, making a beeline for the bedroom. He kisses me as he sets me down, then both hands slide up my sides, slipping under my shirt but over my bra.

“Oh Stephen,” I say, beginning to unbutton his shirt at the collar. “You’re too precious for this world.”


End file.
